


The First Bite

by Luna



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 15:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8537551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna/pseuds/Luna
Summary: Rey and Finn share dessert.





	

The first bite slides off Rey's spoon and down her throat like the purest water, smooth and perfect and--"It's so cold," she says, amazed, it's probably silly to be amazed--

"It's so sweet," Finn says, his eyes going so wide she can see herself in them. They hold the look for a second, lean close together, dig in. 

_[A Carver egg with the inside sucked out through a pinprick hole, whipped with milk and nectar, injected back into the shell, and frozen. You used to be able to get them at any diner in the Core Worlds. The first time I tried one, I was smitten, ate two a day until I made myself sick.]_

Rey catches herself pulling on Luke's memory and lets go of the thread. She glances at him across the mess hall and he looks back with his chin raised: Work on your boundaries, okay? Okay.

She concentrates on eating, on the taste, lush and creamy, just a hint of salt. And cold, yes, so cold it makes her head ache, so she stops, pressing her fingers to her temple. Finn pauses with his spoon halfway to the dish and sits back, waiting for her. He's matching her bite for bite, being so careful not to take more than his share. 

"Bet you everyone else loved these when they were kids," Rey says. 

Finn laughs. "You know what's crazy? Snap will say something that makes no sense, and then stop--"

"And stare at you for a whole minute," Rey says, nodding. "Like you're supposed to answer his question, but it's not a question, it's a joke--"

"--But it's not even a joke, it's just the punchline--"

"He seems so disappointed that you don't get it--"

"Get used to it," Finn says. "This has been going on for months, and he thinks I'm the one who's slow on the uptake." He looks around the room as if he's worried that Snap heard him, but everyone's eating. Sharing. There's not quite enough to go around. 

Carver eggs are rare now, it turns out. Nobody even knows where the General got them. When someone asked, she just arched her eyebrows and said they were free to stick to standard rations if they pleased. It's for Luke, though. Rey could tell that, without even trying. When they're in the same room she can feel the energy passing between them, as if they're magnets, but she can't always tell if they're drawing together or pushing away.

_[Leia never does anything for only one reason. It's a welcome home, and at the same time it's the gentlest warning: we can't afford our youthful mistakes. Not this time. Not with these children--]_

"You all right?" Finn says.

Her face goes hot. "Yeah," she says. "Just--boundaries." To keep from having to explain, she dives back into the dessert. She wants it all before it melts; the coldness almost has its own taste, a secret spice. Her spoon clinks against Finn's and suddenly there's nothing left but fragments of shell and a few bright blue droplets, shimmering. She mops one up with a finger, licks it clean. Finn hesitates and then does the same thing. They both sigh at the same time, on the same satisfied note.

"We should make up our own," she says.

"Our own what?"

"Our own punchlines." It's an idle thought, but there's something about his eyes, how they lock on hers, that makes Rey keep going. "Our own classic holovids that we can't believe they never saw. Our own when-we-were-little stories."

"What, like--" He stirs the broken shell with his spoon, frowns. "Like we were kids together?"

She recognizes the shadow that crosses his face, feels it moving over her. They both have stories, just not the kind you toss into casual conversation. People wince whenever Rey even mentions Jakku, so she doesn't talk about how she learned to weld durasteel, or treat burns, or defend her water supply. And Finn--it must be even worse. Because she was lonely, she went hungry, but Finn was starving, and he didn't even know what for.

They could tell each other everything, Rey thinks, maybe they never will, but they both know they could. Out of all the people in the galaxy--

She reaches across the table and takes Finn's hand. "We were kids together," she says. "Don't you remember?"

He blinks, blinks again, and then he gets that look. The look he gave her when they first met, like she was impossible and he was deciding to believe in her anyway. "Oh," he says. "Oh, yeah, I remember."

"We used to race speeder bikes," she says. "We would sneak out on them at night and pretend to be star pilots."

His forehead wrinkles. "Loser had to clean up. Um. Clean up...after our pet lothcat?"

"Yes. Which we trained to attack people we didn't like." She laces her fingers between his. "We missed all the holovids because we were always out climbing--"

"Trees," Finn says, picking up steam. "There was that one time with the, with the coconuts--"

"You started the coconut war," she says. She can almost picture them: small children and trees so tall they would seem endless. "I finished it."

"That poor droid." He shakes his head. "It was never the same after that."

She bites her lip to keep herself from grinning. "Well, you shouldn't have taught it that filthy smuggling song."

"Now that was your idea," he says, very firmly. "I don't even speak Huttese."

"That's exactly what you'd want people to think. Pretending to be an innocent bystander."

"Pretend nothing, I was the nice one, and you--"

"No, you were--"

"Always getting us into trouble," they say in unison. They're both laughing, loud enough to draw some curious looks. Rey's glad people are wondering. "We always got out of it somehow," she says. That, at least, feels true. "We were lucky." 

"I remember," Finn says, and squeezes her hand.

She knows what it means: I wish. "Me too," she says.

Something ripples through her like sunlight on water--part of it is coming to her from Luke, warm and freely given--

_[I remember, too. I used to dream I had a sister.]_

But mostly it's because they've been holding hands a long time. Because of the faint blue tinge on Finn's lips, his uncertain smile. That look. She wants to tell him that she believes in the impossible all the time. That sometimes it comes true.

"And we ate Carver eggs every day," she says. "But we never got sick, it was always just as good as--"

He kisses her just in time to pass the last of the sweetness between them, so now it will always be there, in every kiss that follows the first.


End file.
